Tag Archives: Processing

Processing 2: It Never Rains…

This has been a terrible week for me. I try so hard to cope with things whilst dealing with the huge vacuum inside of me that nothing will ever fill no matter how I try. I don’t make good decisions either for example: a few months ago a female acquaintance advised me that a dog would help. Something to come home to, something that would appreciate me and show me some affection. An excellent idea I agreed, especially when I saw the amazing relationship she had with her dog, a cockapoo.  The perfect dog for me, a bundle of fun who would show me unconditional and unstinting affection.

So I went on the net and linked up with Claudette who was selling her cockapoo, Cleo who was only four months old. Her circumstances had changed which was her reason for selling the dog. This breed normally sell for around £500. But she wanted a quick sale so she was prepared to sell for £250. The same day I went to see little Cleo and Claudette.

Claudette was a nervous lady in obvious emotional distress and spoke of her deep conflict in choosing between her husband and lover. She had decided on her lover and was planning to leave for France in a matter of days. We swapped heartaches and I fell in love with Cleo.

That Sunday Claudette brought Cleo to me and I was overjoyed. Cleo was not house-trained and tore through the house with such exuberance and joy that I could not keep up with her. She left her calling cards all over the place and the stench was appalling. I went to bed and Cleo slept in my room, fitfully, desperate for my attention at all hours. Next morning I awoke to the most terrible panicked condition realising I was in no state emotionally to care for a puppy.

I got back on the phone to Claudette. She was in tears as was I. She said she had something to do and would ring me back later. She duly rang. She had abandoned her plans to leave her husband and had cancelled her trip to France; she felt the whole situation with Cleo was a sign, fate lending her a hand to undo a bad decision. She wanted her dog back and would stay with her husband.

I took Cleo back the next day. Both Claudette and I were in tears and emotional stress we generated could have been measured on the Richter scale.

A few days ago I adopted a mature cat from a rescue centre, the cat is traumatised and has been hiding under the sideboard for four days now, he won’t eat or drink and the rescue centre say it will take some time. But again I feel I have called the wrong shots. I feel fate really has it in for me; determined to undo any little plan I might hatch to lessen my grief.

As things stand, five days in, the cat will not emerge from his hiding place. The plan now is to return him on Sunday.

So another dreadfully ill-advised decision.

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Processing

You know when a tune goes round and around in your head and nothing can shake it. It’s called a brain worm or something. That’s been happening to me a lot lately. One or two tunes are plaguing me with memories I am trying to repress. God it’s unfair how we cannot wash our brains of unwanted material that only serves to distress us.

On Monday it was the Coldplay song ‘Yellow’. The bit that goes:

Your skin,

Oh yeah your skin and bones,

Turn into

Something beautiful,

You know,

You know I love you so,

You know I love you so.

Even now, just writing about it brings all the sadness surging back and reduces me to tears. Although the song was experienced in a happy place, physically and emotionally. South of France in 2010. In the car searching out a restaurant, driving around the narrow streets sussing out the best place to eat, as far as one can from a car, albeit a slowly moving one. And the diners on the pavement smiling and waving as I sang along to ‘Yellow’, all windows open and volume turned to near deafening proportions. You know I love you so… louder with each refrain. Look at the stars…cruising up and down the narrow street. Happy, joyful and still in love with my husband after 30 years of marriage. Stopped at the traffic lights, uniformed gendarmes looking towards us smiling, fingers in ears.

‘Not so loud Julie, you’ll get us arrested.’ My husband trying not to laugh at me. I’m in a state of near euphoria; the only influence I’m under is the balmy warmth of the summer evening and my over-flowing cup of utter contentment.

He tries to stop laughing but doesn’t join the singing. He cannot raise a tune to save his life. He grabs hold of my hand and kisses my cheek. ’You’re bloody crazy you know. That’s why I love you.’ He says with that look of fondness and affection in his eyes that is so familiar to me. I keep playing the same track; I’m hoarse now and hungry and feel I have tortured ‘Yellow’ quite enough. We park the car and find a table in the restaurant we ate in the day before, thus making our trawl totally unnecessary apart from the opportunity to commune with Coldplay and ‘Yellow’.

At the finish of yet another delicious meal we return to our campsite. We loved the freedom and economy of camping. I cuddle up and hold his hand as I fall asleep. The end of another perfect day.

Look at the stars,

Look how they shine for you…

He left me eighteen months ago, without a word of warning. We were moving to our new home – a bungalow the following day. He we were almost finished packing and he was having three days off work. The evening before, he said he was just going to pop into the office to attend a meeting but he’d be back by lunchtime to finish the packing. That morning he brought me a cup of tea in bed as usual; kissed me as usual and left saying he’d be back by lunchtime. He never came back and I haven’t seen him or spoken a word to him from that day.

Oh enough already. I must stop these tears. All for now